Mother's Day
by Rose Malmaison
Summary: Gibbs gently pushes Tony to open up and ends up revealing something of himself in return. One chapter, complete, slash, nothing graphic - just a couple of guys talking. Complete.


Mother's Day by Rose Malmaison  
>Spoilers: Takes place after Legend, S6x23<br>Genre: Slash, established relationship  
>Pairing: GibbsDiNozzo  
>Rating: FRT<br>Warnings: mentions of sex  
>Disclaimer: Borrowing the characters for further exploration.<br>Length: 1/1, 4200 words  
>Summary: Gibbs gently pushes Tony to open up and ends up revealing something of himself in return.<br>Notes: Many, many thanks to Vicky for her insightful comments, and for forcing me to see the forest. If you read this, please take the time to leave a comment.

**Mother's Day**

_Mother's Day - Sunday, May 10, 2009_

Even though Tony is sitting on the very last park bench, the one that's way at the end of the promenade overlooking the river and a good five-minute's walk from the Navy Yard, Gibbs finds him anyway. It's as if Tony is a beacon and Gibbs unfailingly homes in on him. Tony doesn't quite understand the connection even if he has faith in Gibbs and would be adrift without him.

Tony checks his watch when Gibbs settles beside him. "Almost 1300, Boss. And there I was, thinking you were going to disappoint me," he says lightly. He's torn between wanting to be alone and needing to have a talk with Gibbs; he's put it off long enough and Gibbs has been more than patient with him.

"I try not to disappoint," Gibbs says with a crooked smile.

"No, you never do, Jethro," Tony replies fondly.

The sun might be warm but the air off the river is chilly, and they're both wearing overcoats, Tony in a classic Burberry trench and Gibbs is in a London Fog that's seen better days. Tony is always trying, and failing, to get Gibbs to upgrade his wardrobe. All the same, Tony thinks Gibbs looks pretty damned good no matter what he's wearing – or when he's wearing nothing at all.

They have the area pretty much to themselves and Tony assumes most of the populace is doing something nice for their mother on this special Sunday, like taking her to lunch at the Tabard Inn, or strolling around the flower festival on the cathedral grounds. Mother's Day has never been easy for Tony, and this one is no exception. Experience has taught him that it's best to keep busy and to avoid thinking about it, and tomorrow will be a better day. Tony doesn't mind working over the weekend anyway; they'll get the next one off and he plans to take Gibbs to an antique boat show on Sunday. It's been a while since they've done any guy stuff together and it'll be good for Gibbs to get out of his basement for a change.

Gibbs is busy watching a pair of sailboats tacking back and forth across the river, so Tony casually leans back and extends his arms along the back of the bench. He closes his eyes and raises his face to the sun. "Feels good to take in some rays and watch the boats go by." There's no response from Gibbs but Tony doesn't really expect there to be any. He lazily brushes his thumb against Gibbs' shoulder where it's pressed against the back of the bench, but he's wearing too many layers for Tony to get any real feeling for the man hidden underneath.

After a few minutes Tony opens his eyes again and looks over the river. It's a dark steel color today and the sunlight hits all the little crests, making the water sparkle as if it's strewn with a million diamonds. He waves at a young woman paddling close to the shore in a bright red kayak, but she's occupied with navigating the fast-moving current and only briefly raises her hand in greeting.

"Nice spring day," Tony says to Gibbs, stating the obvious. "Maybe we can could rent a couple of kayaks and explore upriver sometime." He inhales deeply, then coughs. Gibbs looks at him, with a narrowing of his eyes that has little to do with the bright May sunshine, but he refrains from asking Tony anything foolish, like if he's all right. Even though it's been a few years, Tony is susceptible to bronchitis and other lung ailments, and every spring he gets hit hard by allergies. After another couple of coughs, Tony recovers sufficiently to clear his throat and smile convincingly at Gibbs. Or at least he hopes he's projecting a smile and not a toothy grimace because there is still a little residual pain in his chest that he's trying hard to conceal. He knows from a lifetime of practice that it's the eyes that matter; a smile that doesn't reach your eyes isn't a true smile and Gibbs can easily see the difference.

Tony makes light of his coughing by saying, "So much for the wonderful aroma coming off the river. Sort of a mix of diesel fuel, dirty water, and something indescribably rotten that should probably be lying on Ducky's table. On his autopsy table, I mean, not his dinner table."

"I know what you mean, DiNozzo," Gibbs says, the inflection suggesting he gets the big picture.

"It's allergies," Tony states firmly. He looks straight into Gibbs' eyes when he says that, to ensure that Gibbs knows he's telling the truth. It takes a moment but he can see when Gibbs accepts his word; there's a slight softening in the muscles around his eyes. Gibbs still has a tan, a souvenir of his recent California trip. It makes him look younger than his fifty years, and suddenly Tony's heart swells at how handsome the man is. He sees Gibbs every day at work, and spends most of his time with him when they're off duty, but Tony realizes he doesn't take the opportunity to simply sit back and admire him often enough.

Gibbs must have a good idea of what Tony is thinking because his gaze drops from Tony's eyes to look intently at his mouth and they both smile at the same time, like mirror images. They go back to watching the activity on the river, acutely aware of each other.

There's a tugboat pushing a huge barge that's loaded with what appears to be scrap metal, a few pleasure boats and, in the distance, a patrol boat bearing mounted guns that brings 'Apocalypse Now' to mind. Tony knows he's avoiding the issue at hand, but he can't resist quoting from the film, which they'd seen at the Regal on a frigid night a few weeks ago. "'Do you know why you can never step into the same river twice?'"

It takes Gibbs all of five seconds before he snorts and shakes his head – not because he doesn't know the answer, but because he recognizes the line from the movie. "Because the damned river's moving all the time, DiNozzo."

"Good catch, Jethro. Proud of you." Tony grins, loving how difficult it is for Gibbs to hold back a smile at the compliment – or perhaps it's due to the memory of their après-film lovemaking at Gibbs' place in front of a blazing fire.

Ever since they returned from Arizona and Tony had assured Gibbs that he wasn't inheriting any money, and no, he wasn't leaving his job, Gibbs had started to make excuses to get Tony to stay overnight. "I bought two steaks and can't eat both of them," Gibbs said. "No sense in wasting good food." Then it was, "You'd better stay over. Can't have you drivin' buzzed," even though Tony had only had three beers. Tony's favorite was, "You know your car's making a funny noise? I'd better look under the hood – in the morning." Tony couldn't find his keys a couple of times when he was getting ready to leave, and was induced to stay over. The keys miraculously reappeared the next morning after breakfast, and Tony never let on that he'd seen Gibbs drop them behind the couch cushion when he thought Tony wasn't looking.

The thing is, Tony doesn't need anyone to twist his arm to stay over at Gibbs' house, and in his bed – in his strong, capable arms. Tony loves the man, almost desperately, even if he can't say so aloud.

They've been together, on and off, for years, but it's only in the past couple of months that their relationship has become steady, and somehow deeper. Tony stays over more times than not, and he's getting so used to eating and sleeping at Gibbs' home that he's starting to think of it as his own. Things have changed enough for Gibbs to casually suggest this morning over breakfast, "The warm weather will be here soon. You should bring your summer clothes over. I made room in my closet." Gibbs had risen from the table to pour himself another cup of coffee, sparing Tony the need to reply right away.

Now, sitting on the bench close enough for their shoulders to touch, Gibbs turns to him and asks, "You ready to settle down with me, Tony?"

It's a big moment, and Tony isn't expecting Gibbs to approach him head-on during lunch hour, outside in a public park. It simply isn't his way – Gibbs is more likely to enter into a serious talk over a tumbler of bourbon, preferably when his hands are occupied with sanding his boat. But Tony can see that Gibbs is concerned, and his direct gaze strips Tony down to a place he doesn't want to go. He wants this – with Gibbs – but he's scared. It isn't the actual commitment that he fears though, because in many ways he's been committed to Gibbs since the day he started working with him.

"I…" Tony swallows hard and tells himself he needs to be honest, no matter how difficult it may be. "I think I'm afraid I'm going to ask too much of you, Jethro – expect too much. And you'll say no. And I really don't want to be…" He fears becoming too involved and then Gibbs leaving him, that's the bottom line. If you don't get in too deep they can't get tired of you, reject you and abandon you, leaving you broken into a million little pieces. The problem is that Tony is already in too deep; he just hasn't fully accepted it yet.

Gibbs eyes don't waver but then he has the patience of a sniper. He asks, almost defiantly, "You think I'd ever say no to you?"

Tony shakes his head. "Got you wrapped around my little finger," he says with a small smile.

"Ya think?" Gibbs elbows Tony gently in the ribs and that puts him at ease.

After a moment Tony asks, "When's Ducky going to have the results ready?" Gibbs would have said something straight off if the ME had completed the autopsy they are waiting on, but Tony has been away from the Yard for well over an hour and he feels rather remote from his job. This the first time in weeks that he's taken time for himself in the middle of the day and it feels good to play hooky. It suddenly hits Tony that he isn't at all sure that he wants to go back, to any of it. "I need…I need a little more time." They haven't had much cause for joy lately, and this day, with its bittersweet memories, is yet another hurdle to overcome.

Gibbs can sense his uncertainty because his voice is soft and reassuring when he says, "We've got time, Tony." The silver-haired man sits there as if he has nowhere specific to be, no urgent business or an open investigation awaiting his attention back at the office, which isn't the case.

Tony looks at Gibbs, hunched over with his overcoat splaying across the seat, and has a sudden vision of the old men he used to see sitting on benches in Central Park, feeding breadcrumbs to flocks of hungry pigeons. He remembers Art Carney, George Burns and Lee Strasberg in 'Going in Style', and how the three old men get tired of spending their days sitting on park benches, reading the newspaper and feeding the birds, and so they plan a stick-up. Maybe he can be Art Carney and Gibbs can be Burns, he thinks with a wry smile. Then he remembers that the movie didn't end well. Tony is a great believer that real life imitates movies rather than the other way around.

Apparently Gibbs isn't going to say anything more, so Tony fills the void with a joke he overheard in the coffee shop that morning. "You ever hear the one about George Washington's Jewish mother? She says, 'Next time I catch you throwing money across the Potomac, you can kiss your allowance good-bye!'"

The two men chuckle for a bit and then Gibbs looks straight at Tony and speaks to him in that intense, quiet way he has that makes him sound so wise. "I know it's been hard for you to get through today, especially with some long-buried feelings coming to light, Tony – sadness, anger, regret. You need to face them and then get past them." In response to Tony's raised eyebrow at the source of such advice, Gibbs' face colors, a faint pink that travels up his neck and settles in his cheeks, but his gaze remains steady.

This conversation has seemed inevitable from the moment Gibbs sat down next to him, but knowing it was coming doesn't make it any less uncomfortable. Tony shrugs dismissively. "It's a long time since she died, Jethro. I've dealt with it already." His tone is harsher than he intends but he won't apologize. He doesn't know what the feeling is that seems to be stuck in his throat, but he says defensively, "I'm not…sad." No, but he is full of regret and pain, and there's some anger in there, too, although he doesn't know why he would feel this way after all these years.

"The time to grieve may be over, Tony, but you can't tell me you don't have some strong emotions trying to come out." Gibbs adjusts his position so he's half-facing Tony. "You miss her."

Gibbs' straight-shooting comment carries more weight than any platitudes, and Tony feels his chest tighten up. This is exactly what he'd hoped to avoid, and it's pretty damned funny that, of all people, it's Gibbs who's talking to him about repressed feelings. "Of course I damn well miss her. She was my mother," Tony snaps. He immediately regrets being so sharp with Gibbs when he means well, so Tony amends his words by saying, "It's just…it's hard to keep hearing all these people wishing women 'Happy Mother's Day' everywhere I go, and I really…really want this day to be over."

Gibbs is observing him steadily, his gaze awash with understanding and affection, which isn't helping Tony at all with keeping his emotions at bay. Once again he feels compelled to fill the lull with something – anything – so he gives in. He takes Gibbs' advice and talks about his mother. "My mother…she started out as a fashion designer in Manhattan. Did I ever tell you that?"

"No, Tony." Gibbs shakes his head and waits patiently for Tony to continue.

"Yeah, Mom was a student at Parsons when Dad met her, and he was consulting for a capitol management corporation on 7th Avenue. She was fifteen years younger than him but it didn't make any difference. She loved handbags – man, did she ever! She got a job designing purses and shoes for Halston before she even finished school and she worked for him right up until when I was born. That's when my parents moved out to Long Island. Mom got interested in interior design and was soon heavily invested in what Dad called the DiRococo period." Tony laughs loudly, throwing his head back. "God, talk about over the top: elaborate décor, cherubs in gold leaf, canopy beds with swags and tassels." He uses broad sweeps of his hands to describe the draping. "Very Louis XIV; Baroque gone mad. The stuff of nightmares."

Of course Gibbs knows about Tony's nightmares; he's been there for him on enough occasions. Gibbs clears his throat and says, "My mother was an Army nurse. She was all starch and rules, even at home. Drove my dad crazy. He was always trying to get her to loosen up." After a moment of musing, Gibbs adds, "They liked to go dancing together."

Tony is surprised, not at her profession – because he already knows Gibbs' mother was a career nurse – but that Gibbs is volunteering personal information without anyone applying a hammerlock hold. He had cautiously asked Gibbs about his parents a couple of times, but he had always been blocked and Gibbs had made it clear that he didn't want to talk about them.

Gibbs thinks back for a moment and adds, "She was a Captain, worked medevac. Decorated while serving in Korea, in a MASH unit." From the look on his face, it's obvious he's proud.

Tony grins, delighted by Gibbs' disclosure. "Wow, your mom was Hot Lips Houlihan? That explains a lot. _Now_ I get it." Tony expects and even enjoys the dark look that is sent his way, as well as the relatively light head slap, neither of which is enough to prevent him from prodding a bit more. He wants to know everything about Gibbs. "Did she meet your dad during the war?"

Gibbs replies, "They met later on when she was working at the hospital over in Harrisburg. Dad says he was in love from the first moment he first laid eyes on her. He made the two-hour drive every single morning after working the night shift at the mine, just to buy her breakfast. After three months she agreed to marry him. She said it was because she was tired of seeing him falling asleep in his hash browns." Gibbs smiles to himself, and then raises his eyes to share his emotions with Tony.

Tony asks, "Is your mom the one who taught you how to make a bed so tight you can bounce a quarter off it?"

Gibbs' smile grows and his eyes are sparkling like a kid's, as bright as the sunlight on the river but a lot bluer. "Yeah, well, Mom could have been a Marine drill sergeant, but that doesn't mean I did half the things she told me to do. I was sort of…uh…difficult as a kid."

Tony opens his eyes wide in mock surprise. "You don't say." He loves the way Gibbs ducks his head and smiles. "You know, I don't think my mom had any rules," Tony says thoughtfully. "I pretty much did what I wanted to do most of the time. When my dad was away, she used to put me to bed early on a school night, but then she'd wake me up at midnight so I could watch scary late-night movies with her. Now that was fun."

Gibbs makes a sound of disbelief. "No wonder you have bad dreams."

Tony lays his hand on Gibbs' knee, just for a moment, and then turns his head towards the river once again. He feels some of that sadness that Gibbs accused him of harboring rising to the surface and he resents that Gibbs was right. After a long pause Tony says in a quiet voice, "When she died I felt so alone I crawled into my bed and stayed there for days. I cried so hard that I thought I was going to die, just like Mom did. When you're a kid you don't know how to cope, and Dad was pretty useless."

Tony takes a deep breath and continues, "Being sent away to boarding school helped a bit. There were lots of noisy kids, and sports and other stuff going on – things that took my mind off her passing. Sometimes I used to think that if she'd just held on, lived just a little longer, maybe they'd have found a cure. I'd get mad at her that she didn't try harder, that she left me behind. That she didn't love me enough to stay." He gives a self-deprecating laugh and says, "I even decided to become a doctor so I could make her better. She was already gone so how stupid was that? But then I'd remember how she'd been in so much pain, even with all the medicine she was taking. I knew it was selfish of me to want Mom to go through that hell for even one more minute, just because I needed her."

Gibbs' hand is on Tony's shoulder, squeezing gently. "It's natural for a boy to miss his mom, Tony, and to be upset when she leaves you. You had nobody to turn to or teach you how to get through it. Nobody told you it's okay to be angry, to feel guilty and to be in pain. But remember that she didn't want to get sick. She didn't want to leave you."

Tony knows all this but it doesn't help. He studies his hands for a while, ordering the tears that are welling up not to fall. "You're right, Jethro. I still miss her," he relents. They see death every day on the job, but he'd never really looked hard at his own mother's passing and what it meant to him. Tony raises his head and looks straight at Gibbs, and although his eyes are watery he's past the crisis. "Do you miss your mom?" It's a silly question, because just about everyone misses their mother once she's no longer around, but he still needs to hear Gibbs say it aloud.

Gibbs' hand rests on the back of Tony's head, stroking his hair in a familiar gesture of love and affirmation. "I do miss her, and it's on days like today that I take the time to think about the good things." Gibbs says, his voice rough, "Lost her when I was a teenager and I didn't handle it very well. Blamed my dad, gave him no end of grief."

Gibbs' cell phone rings and it causes him to swear under his breath. Although he squints at the caller ID and then answers it, Tony can tell his boss has no clue who it is and it's enough to make him smile again. After a few grunts Gibbs snaps the phone shut and puts it away. "Ducky has the results. Says he was looking for us."

"He's being a mother hen," says Tony. "Bet Abby had him call just so she could get a fix on your location."

"Next thing, McGee'll put out a BOLO on us. Let's go." They both take a moment to collect themselves and then they rise without saying anything more. Gibbs keeps his hand on Tony's lower back as they head along the promenade, but he lets it slip away when a couple pushing an infant in a stroller pass them by, looking impossibly happy. Tony and Gibbs walk shoulder to shoulder, hands occasionally bumping in a not-so-accidental way, and after a few paces Gibbs recites, "'All I am I owe to my mother.'"

Tony keeps walking but looks sideways at Gibbs. "Where'd you get that from?"

Gibbs shrugs. "I think George Washington said it." His brow wrinkles while he tries to place the origin of the quote. "Or maybe it came from a fortune cookie."

"'The Fortune Cookie'? Good movie, Boss. Haven't you seen it? Jack Lemmon's a news cameraman who gets accidentally sacked on the sidelines when he's filming a football game, and Walter Matthau is his brother-in-law. He's a crooked lawyer who wants Lemmon to fake a serious injury so they can collect damages. Lemmon says, 'He's so full of twists. He starts to describe a donut and it comes out a pretzel.' Gotta love it! We can watch it tonight, okay?"

Gibbs slings his arm around Tony's shoulders and gives him a brief hug, something he never does in public. "You want me to grill a couple of New York strip steaks to go with that movie? You know, to keep with the theme?"

"Yeah, that'll be good, Jethro." Tony loves that Gibbs tries to please him, so he doesn't let on that he's pretty sure that 'The Fortune Cookie' takes place in Cleveland. "I might be a little bit late though," he says with deceptive casualness. "There's something I need to do."

Gibbs sends a questioning look his way, so Tony explains, "Have to run by my apartment first and pack some clothes and things. Enough to fill up my half of that closet." When he looks at Gibbs the man is grinning and Tony is glad he has the ability to make him so happy.

Tony's step is a bit lighter as they head into work. He's still talking, about movies that center upon mothers – 'Mommie Dearest', 'Throw Momma from the Train', 'Psycho' – when they enter the building, and Gibbs has a long-suffering expression on his face that clearly says his tolerance level has just about maxed out. As soon as the doors of the elevator close on them, and they're alone, Tony presses Gibbs against the wall and kisses him non-stop until one second before the doors open on their floor. They step off and make for the bullpen, with Gibbs hiding his pleasure far better than he's able to hide the bulge in his pants, and Tony thinks that with Gibbs' help he can make it through the day after all.

***end***


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